


The Fisherman's wife

by Babymoose_babyangel



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Healthy Relationships, If you want - Freeform, Love, Marriage, This is a niche that is for ME, and you, healthy hetero relationships, romantic fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 09:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21159410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babymoose_babyangel/pseuds/Babymoose_babyangel
Summary: I sat on this story for a bit but i really wanna publish it! Im just yearning





	The Fisherman's wife

You wait for him at home. Your home. But not your home, because his name is also on the mortgage. You haven't lived on your own for a very long time, but this is in fact, your home. You did pick it out. It was handmade years, decades, centuries ago. You painted the walls white. You planted the herbs that don't die in this climate in the window sills. He hauled every piece of furniture willed to him by his grandfather from the lighthouse.  
Our home. 

You knit sweaters while you wait for him. Wool thick and from Washington. Needles big enough to not be swallowed by the yarn but small enough to not create a loose weave. Like your husband, who is strong enough to haul the ship equipment but only just tall enough to tuck you under his chin.

Aren't you lonely out here? The town people ask. Because you are college educated (most people quit school to work on the ships anyways), because you are from a different state (The whole state is an icebox! The say at the bars), because your mother is back in Pennsylvania (The girls here don't pretend to hate their mothers like the T.V. shows, they are devoted to them). You are not lonely here. You have his flannel, and his mug, and you know how to brew his coffee and keep it on the stove for when he comes home.

Green bottle. A gift. He ordered it just for you. It's like sea-glass. He tells you. You laugh, All glass is sea-glass. It just hasn't been in the sea yet. He smiles wistfully, popping the cap off with his knife, letting the piece of metal fall onto the gravel. Real sea-glass is made in the sea. The pressure of the water will turn pieces of sand onto glass. You don't think that's right. But you take your empty bottle and lift it to your eye, like a telescope. Bottle green. 

If I could begin to be, half of what you think of me. I could do about anything. I could even learn how to love like you. He sings to you, silly, posing like a strongman. But he holds your waist gently as he spins you on the hardwood floors with an immeasurable amount of sadness in his eyes. He feels guilty, because you must sit on the floor next to fire when you do your hand sewing so your fingers don't freeze. The christening dress you made for his new sister caught on fire. I always thought I might be bad. Now I'm sure that it's true 'cause. I think you're so good. And I'm nothing like you.

Boys, I might be in love! He shouts from the ship when he sees you on the dock. It's only the first months, you're still living in your apartment. But here you are, waiting at the dock in your long flannel dress made from an 80's Simplicity pattern, oversized windbreaker, and yellow rain boots. And even though he is wet all over, you pull him close and kiss him in front of his crew.

They say a fisherman's first love is the sea. But not for your fisherman, who lets you shave his beard with his straight razor, who plays the violin for you, who wraps his arms around you under the down comforter. 

Imagine you leave home because you don't know what to do with your life other than move out of your mother's house. Imagine you take a cheap flight to Alaska and every warm piece of clothing you can fit into your suitcase. You take a temp job at a real estate firm and become some girl's roommate. One day your boss says she wants you on full time. You say yes. Imagine one day your boss's son comes to visit. He's a commercial fisherman, like most of the men in town. His muscles are hard, but still soft. He had piercing eyes and neat beard. But the thing that really caught your interest were his shoes, sturdy leather oxfords. He was as young as you, but looked like a man.  
Imagine him shaking your hand, your skin burning under your second hand blazer.   
Imagine his mother, your boss, setting you two on a date. The both of you agreeing because you both have nothing better to do.  
Imagine not bring to fully make eye contact with his mother (your boss) the day after the date.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a playlist I made for this story https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7grsUVI4npl38Pb0gfn8bI?si=XvjD4Bh5TIuQ9F_lapny2Q


End file.
